one hundred ways in which love takes place
by poisonnwine
Summary: 100 Theme Challenge! 100 Spoby One Shots. Some AU, some not. Some ending happily, some not. Read 100 ways, in which Spoby falls in love/is in love. Ranging from fluff to angst to smut.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! Well, I'm starting the "100 Theme Writing Challenge", for those of you who don't know, it is basically 100 words/phrases that you base your fic off of. Some will be AU, and none of them will be related (those are the rules, I guess? But rules are made to be broken, so we'll see c; ) Anyways, I found this on Live Journal, so there's that. I will update it whenever I want to update.

This first one is taking place in the PLL world, but post all the -A shit.

* * *

**1. Beginnings **

It is the beginning of a new era. An era without -A (well hopefully.) An era without drama (this too, hopefully.) And an era without high school.

She is off to college, and things are seemingly going her way. She had gotten into another ivy league college (Brown), and although it is not U-Penn, it is something her parents can brag about to their colleagues. And although her parents did not say they were proud of her (she wasn't expecting them too, even if she secretly hoped for it), everyone else did. Even Alison.

Now, she is at college-living in some crummy dorm, with a short, annoying, red head named Sammi, and even though she misses her friend and boyfriend, everything is so much more mellow-_normal,_ and Spencer could not be more grateful.

Okay, fine. She could. She has been moping all night about missing Toby, but it is only because it is their anniversary and she has not seen him in a month, and it feels like her heart is going to fall off its hold, and crumble up into nothing. She knew she would miss him a lot, she did, but she never imagined she would go this crazy over his absence. She has been apart from him before. But it was the fact that he was in Rosewood still that bugged her the most. In that horrible town, with its horrible people. He deserved to be somewhere more new. He deserved a new beginning of his own.

And then the idea strikes her.

Toby was stuck in Rosewood for one reason. He couldn't afford to be anywhere else. At least not without finishing the renovations on his loft, first.

She pulls out her laptop, her fingers tapping the keys, and her eyes moving across the screen in quick movements (like how Hanna reads her magazines, sometimes.)

And suddenly she is pulling out her phone, dialing numbers, and making appointments. And a few days later...

"You leased a loft, _just _so I could come live with you? Are you crazy? It's going to take me forever to pay you back...and I _still _haven't paid you all the way back for the truck."

"Relax," she tells him. "My roommate was annoying me, anyway. I wanted to move out. I just...don't want to live alone," she tries.

"Spencer."

"I want you to be here-not stuck in Rosewood! You can pay me back later, just...come," she pleas. Then a moment later, "wait...am I being crazy? Like not I-Just-Rented-A-Loft-Crazy, but that clingy girlfriend crazy? I'm sorry. I've made this thoroughly awkward."

"No, Spencer. No, of course not. I would _love _seeing you everyday," he muses. Then after a, sort of, sigh-laugh (one of those things that is just created by 100% bliss), he says, "I love you. I love you, so much. Part of me feels like a Gold Digger, but I love you."

She grins, "so, you'll move in with me?" her voice skips an octave.

* * *

It is hard to believe that a whole four has passed since high school. A whole four years without -A's torment, and Mona's cryptic riddles. And now Spencer is starting a job as a Business Process Consultant, at a New York Firm.

Toby came with her, of course, and they left their little apartment in Rhode Island.

Being a Business Process Consultant, brought a lot of travel. Which, she liked, in some ways. She has always dreamed of traveling-seeing the world, and its beauty, after experiencing its harshness for so long, but she misses Toby, and her friends, and even _her family sometimes. _She has time to see no one, and even Toby who she _lives _with barely sees her. She travels 90% of the time, and barely has anytime to herself. And when she _is _home, Toby is gone-off, dominating the world.

See, Toby knew _exactly w_hat he wanted to do. Probably when he was, like, five, or something. He was going to be a carpenter, and along with that, an entrepreneur who builds up his personal as the years continue. Right now, he is close to having his _own _company. He works a lot, like her, and is, sort of, kind of, working two jobs at once. One job, for his own toddler company, and one for a much bigger one. (Somewhat.) So, it isn't like it is _only _on her that they rarely catch sight of each other.

But she wants it to work, and she wants to stop traveling so much. She would want that even if Toby wasn't in the picture. So, she goes back to school, intending to go for two more years, she'll be able to obtain her MBA, which will slow down her load. She'll have more control, and be able to stay in the same place for a whole while longer.

But it is hard to work time into her busy, busy, schedule. So, instead of two years, it takes three.

And in those three years, her and Toby's relationship takes a beating.

Not that it hasn't before. It is used to it, and they created a pretty strong immune system. But it still sucks. She misses him, and probably is able to spend time with him once every two months, _if she's lucky. _But if she were to be honest, in the last four months, she has probably spent an hour with him. But, she's almost done with schooling, and then things will be crucially easier. But there is still a few months to go, and she isn't sure how much their relationship can handle.

It is January first, the beginning of the new year, and Spencer is spending it in some shitty motel in the middle of Utah. The company _always_ gives her the worst room. She is trying to do her homework, but the walls may as well be sheets, because she can hear the exact contents of what is going on outside. She cannot get anything done, and she cannot get any sleep because of the fucking, awful noise. She is stuck in a cycle of doom.

At 1AM, there is a knock at the door. At first, she wants to ignore it. It is probably some drunk old hag, but they knock again, and she has had a urge to scream at someone all night. So, she goes to the door, and just as she is about to yell and shout and cuss, her arms are wrapping around the man almost instinctively. A squeal of sorts exits her smiling mouth, and she refuses to release the intruder.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks into his neck.

"I wanted to see you."

She lets out a high-pitched laugh, because if that were the case for her, she would be fucking visiting him all the damn time. "You're in Utah," she comments.

"Yeah," he nods, about to pull her away, but she just grasps him tighter. He seems to get the point.

"Utah," she states, again, dumbfounded.

"Utah..." he repeats, laughing.

She pulls away from him, falling back on her heels, (she always has to tip-toe when hugging him in the way she likes hugging him.) She beams up at him, and he kisses her forehead, nuzzling his nose against hers.

"I can't believe you're here."

"I _wanted_ to come sooner, but...there were delays," he sighs. "I was planning to be here at 10. I'm sorry. Were you sleeping?" he asks, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Ha. Are you kidding? It sounds like World War Two outside."

He perks up a smile at her morbidness. A firework goes off just as the words leave her mouth. "So, I didn't wake you?"

"No."

"Well, good then."

She smiles at him, before asking, "do you want to come in?"

He nods to this.

And as the night continues, she decides that this year will be a good one. It will be a _better _one. One that will have her less lonesome, and in the company of whom she loves.

And Toby seems to have the same idea. Because at 3AM (God is she going to be beat at her meeting tomorrow), he pulls out a scrabble box from his luggage. He must be really good at persuading, because she is agreeing to play, and pulling at the box in seconds.

He keeps track of their scores, and Spencer tells him that he better not cheat because she has it all locked down on her brain, and _will know. _Toby just laughs at this, but he knows it is most likely true.

At the end of the game, Toby announces he won by one hundred and thirty points. Knowing this is _complete _bullshit, Spencer pulls the score pad away from him, but the only words that are on it, are...

Spencer, : 34 points

Will: 2 Points

You: 14 Points

Marry: 10 points

Me: 3 points

?

And her heart literally comes to a stop. And everything that has happened between them-everything; the good and the bad-flashes through her mind. It has all led up to this-this moment of pure heart, and love, and utter bliss, and it was all worth it. It was worth it if it brought her to this moment-this feeling of joy, and hope, and love. She always wanted to marry him. She knew he was the one, ever since high school, but she never knew when that day would come. It's not that she was waiting around for him to engage (she could s_o _do that herself), but the moment-this moment-always seemed so surreal, like it was as plausible as visiting the moon.

When she meets his gaze, there is a black velvet box in his hands, a diamond ring blinking up at her.

"Spencer..." he begins, carefully.

The paper nervously crumples in her shaky hand.

"You...you're more important to me, than anything in this entire world. I know the last few years have been really hard, but we're still here. We are still together, and there is _nothing _that could ever tear us apart, I'm sure of it. I know that it is hard...it is so hard, but I promise that it'll be better. I'll take it down a notch, and visit you while you're away, and whatever I can to see you more, I'll do it. Because I love you, Spencer. I love you, I love everything about you. You're my life. So, please...marry me. Marry me, and be with me until you are 80, and still bitter about me beating you in scrabble."

A smile bursts from her face, and then tears, and she is laughing-blissful, joyful, sobs and sighs and squeals, race out of her mouth, trampling past her "yes's." She pins him down on the bed, pushing her lips into his, holding onto him with everything she has.

"I love you," she breaks out through her kissing, her thumb gently brushing against the side of his face.

He kisses her. A long, sensual, kiss that makes her stomach flutter.

"I love you."

* * *

She is now in a new position, at a new firm, one that treats her much better (or maybe it is just the job position; maybe both.)

Toby has discontinued his working for another company all together, and now only focuses on his own. He also attends classes, for business, and architecture, and _finally _gets a new truck (after all these years.) Spencer is pretty sure he was crying when they discontinued the old beige truck's life._  
_

And they are _married_.

And it is spring time, and everything is beginning to blossom, and she this is her favorite start. She doesn't want this start to have an end, because she is so happy with how things are going. She finally is able to see her friends, and Toby, and even her family.

But there is something else to contribute to this new start. Or maybe it is the start of something new all together.

In mid April, she sees a positive mark. On a white stick.

It is scary-more so terrifying. Because she is only twenty eight, and she isn't so sure she even wants children. But it doesn't really matter anymore, because here she is, staring at a positive sign. And after a moment, she is smiling, too. Because it is something wonderful, and new, and wonderful.

When she tells Toby, his blue eyes cover with dew, and he holds her tightly and securely. "We're having a baby..." his words hum in her ears.

She nods against him, smiling, grasping at his back, feeling her own eyes fill with tears.

The first trimester is hard-horrible, and awful, but soon, things get better. And the morning sickness stops, and they learn the sex of the baby. It is a girl.

And then somehow, nine months pass, and it is November, and they are in the delivery room, and a new life-a life they created-begins. And it is officially, forever, Spencer's favorite beginning.

* * *

a/n: i would love a review ;) please?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So, I'm a cheater. I kind of took this prompt (the 3:28 AM one) from another 100 Theme Challenge. Sue me? But it is also kind of "middle," or "middles" as the real prompt was. I just didn't know what the hell "Middles" meant. Like, I don't know. I'm a cheater. But it is Middles, in a way. So...shhhhhh. Also, it is shorter from the last one. I'm intending to make them all over 1k. And this is just barely over 1k...so. AHAHA. I just don't like REALLY short things, ya know?

Thank you so much for the reviews/favorites/follows! You guys are making me so happy. I honestly wasn't expecting this to really be glanced at...but you've proved me wrong (in the absolute, marvelous, way!) So, thank you VERY much. XO

ANOTHER THING (when does this Author's Note end, I know.) I was thinking. Do you guys think I should post these all individually? So, people can pick and choose which ones they want to read? Or...? I don't know. The whole thing is stressing me out, lmao. I'm dumb. But, yeah. Help a girl out.

* * *

**#002**

**3:28 AM/(Middles…kind of)**

Normally, she sleeps fine…great, even. Especially since her pregnancy began, this is odd because in most cases it's the exact opposite scenario. It was like the fetus she was carrying around was her own personal sleeping medication. Whenever she hit a pillow or really anything remotely soft, she just dozed off. But tonight is different. Tonight she is wide awake, and so is her daughter. She has been kicking all night. Every time Spencer thinks the kicking will cease, it just begins again.

"Are you playing soccer in there, or something?" Spencer whispers as she sits up, and rubs her belly, once the kicking starts up again.

Her brown eyes move from her abdominal pain to her sleeping husband, and then the clock sitting on the nightstand next to him. 3:28AM, and she has yet to have closed her eyes for longer than two minutes.

She has work tomorrow! How is she supposed to go to work? What's worse than that is, Spencer read that poor sleep during pregnancy can lead to complications during birth. And sure it is just _one _day, but one day can easily multiply into 6.

She shakes her head. She needs a drink of water, or something. _Something_ to lull her to sleep. Obviously, lying here, wishing sleep would succumb her isn't working out for her.

She guides her legs off the bed, and then her body, trying her best to be quiet whilst doing so. He stirs a little, but so far, she is successful in not waking up. She makes her way out the door, wishing that she was wearing more than shorts. It is mid April, which means, during the day it is nice and warm, but at night is a fucking ice bin. It doesn't help that her body is seemingly incapable of keeping her warm—she is always cold.

She grabs a blanket off the chest beside their door, and wraps it around her, unable to handle the Goosebumps that now sleeve her.

She makes her way to the kitchen, and pours herself a glass of water, before taking a seat at the small dining table.

In high school she had many nights like this—restless, and absent from sleep. But it has been a while since high school, and she cannot quite recall how she managed on those nights. Really, she is quite unsure how she managed a_nything _in high school. It was like she was numb to it all.

She shakes the memories away. That's the past, and this is the present. She needs to focus on her present problem.

The water is seemingly only making the fetus more upset, in result making Spencer more upset. Not that she blames her daughter, or anything. It is not her fault. Spencer would probably be kicking and flailing, too, if she was stuck in a small, hot, enclosed, place for nine months.

"Come on, water is good. You have to like water; it's an essential to living!"

The words are whispered even though there is no reason she has to be quiet anymore.

She gets up from the dining table, rubbing her stomach, trying to soothe her un-born child's tantrum. She puts her cup in the dishwasher, sighing as she leans against the counter and cabinets. She looks at her enlarged belly, and sighs. "What do you want me to do?" she mumbles in slight desperation.

She decides that going back to bed is just pointless, because she has been trying for four hours, and it is j highly unlikely she will rest. Besides, she is not even tired. Well, she is—she was, at least. But the kicking has kind of wakened her up. So, instead of going back to bed, she settles down on the couch, and clicks on the TV.

It is almost 4AM, and she has no idea what is on at this time of the night, but she is determined to find _something. _

Eventually, she settles on a documentary that she evidentially finds on Netflix (cable got her nowhere.) It's called "The Act of Killing," and it is basically about crimes during the Indonesian Killings. It isn't really a good thing to watch in the middle of the night, considering how brutal it is, but it is interesting, and it really opens your eyes to things. So, she watches it. Or tries to, at least.

Spencer isn't sure when she fell asleep, but apparently she did, because the next thing she knows Toby is kissing her temple, making her eyes flutter open. She is flustered at first, but then she registers the situation. She couldn't sleep, so she decided to watch a documentary.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but it is 7:20, and I know this is the latest you ever allow yourself to sleep in."

She groans, or is it a sigh? Somewhere in between.

She tilts her head, so she is looking at him. He has already changed from his sleepwear. Which makes sense. Toby has to be at his work earlier than she does, resulting in him waking up sooner.

He nudges his forehead into her temple, his hand roaming over her stomach. "Why are you out here?" he murmurs, gently.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"What would you do?"

"I don't know…" he says, dumbfounded. His eyes flicker to her stomach. _"Something."_

"You just would have just been exhausted all day."

"Misery loves company," he mumbles, his other hand moving behind her back.

"Misery is a sadist."

Toby laughs a little, his blue eyes admiring her, and his hand rubbing her back. But his smile parts, "you could always call in. I'm sure they'll understand."

"No. I have a lot of work to do. And I can't do it from home."

"Fine. Then…you better start getting ready," he sighs a little, kissing her forehead. She leans into him, wrapping her arms around him, and burying her head into his chest.

His hands limply trace around her, and then he mumbles, "this isn't really what I meant…" he muses, his hands tousling in her hair.

She smiles, only holding onto him more tightly, "just give me a minute."

And he gladly, does.


	3. Chapter 3

a/n: THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS. Okay, so this one takes place in 3x24. It might be slightly OOC? I don't know. I'm one of those people who thinks their reunion was rushed. *shrugs*

* * *

**#003/100**

**Endings**

If our hearts are never broken and there's no joy in the mending.

There's so much this hurt can teach us both.

When the words left Mona's lips—those lips that have held so many of her secrets, both bad and good—a sudden hope filled her. Hope, her worst enemy. The thing that never fails to fail her.

It was a simple question. Was she willing to put Toby before her friends? Toby, who broke her heart? Toby whose love could possibly be a mirage? Who was dead a few days ago, and wrenching her whole being? Proving that there is no limit to being broken? Even when you are shattered into millions of pieces already?

She likes to think she isn't that shallow. Isn't that _pathetic. _That somewhere, deep down, past all her insecurities, flaws, and damage, that there is a glimpse of Spencer Hastings left inside her. Spencer Hastings whom once mocked the hopeless romantics of the world. Spencer Hastings, the person who always put her friends first. Spencer Hastings, the strong, _perfect, _girl, who never failed in her mission.

But as much as she wishes she was that person, she is not. That person died when Toby "died." He killed her, just as she thought she killed him. And she should resurrect with him, right? That's how it should work?

If only she actually believed he was alive. If only she could see him; his chest moving up and down, his bright eyes blinking, his lips twitching into that boyish smile that always put butterflies in her stomach.

She is conflicted. Because seeing Toby—alive— would put her back together. Even if this whole thing they had—whatever the hell it was—was a lie, it would bring her back to the Spencer Hastings she knew before.

Seeing is believing.

She says yes to Mona.

She will not betray the girls. She won't. In her selfishness, she will try to remain loyal. She'll work against Mona. She'll team up with her friends. She'll make it work.

But putting on the black hoodie—it feels like the biggest betrayal of them all.

But she has to see him. She has to know he is alive because she doesn't know how much longer she can last.

She wanted to die when she saw him laying there. _Die!_

_He loves me, he loves me not._

She took him for granted when he was around…and _hers_. She lied, and even though she did it to protect him, she felt like she was just being selfish with that. Selfish because she wanted to have that normalcy. She wanted Toby to remain in the dark, so he could keep being her light, but it turns out that he was the one blowing out the torch.

It doesn't seem likely that Toby "loves" her. Because how could he? After everything. If he was –A, he _had _to have seen the destruction. There was no way he was blinded to the way she completed unfolded—utterly erupted, and imploded, at the notion of him being "dead."

If he _loved _her, he wouldn't let her believe that. He would have reached out to her—done something!

But at the same time, how could he fake all that? _Everything? _It was so real…so raw, and legit. His touch was so gentle. His looks, so sincere. His love, so deep.

Dammit, she was crying again.

She hated him. She hated him so much. He hurt her so bad. And they have had fights. He has hurt her (rarely) but, he was always there after to hold her. He held her in his arms, and kissed her forehead, soothing her with simple words and soft affection. But he didn't do that this time. He wasn't there for her. He was gone. She was all alone, the hurt consuming her, until she was nothing, but broken, jagged pieces.

She hated him.

But she craved his love.

She craved him to beg for her forgiveness.

She craved _him._

So, she does what Mona says. She betrays her best friend, all while coming up with a plan to make it up to her—to all her best friends. She comes up with a plan, and puts it into action, and is rewarded in doing so. She gets to see Toby—on Friday.

But that is too far away. And she is planning another scheme—one Mona is not involved in, one that will uncover all the secrets that lies between Mona and Redcoat (hopefully.) She needs to see Toby, _now_.

So, she comes up with another plan.

Why is it that she is so much better at playing the villain, than the hero?

She waits at a booth, sitting in her –A get-up, wondering how she ended up here. When it all got so fucked up that she was wearing the clothes only the devil could fit into? How did it all get so bad?

Someone—Toby—sits across from her. But it still doesn't feel like it is him. He still feels dead. She still sees him in the forest—the tattoo, the crashed bike. It all still seems present, and suddenly she falls back into that moment. Only for a second, but she is back. Back to it all—to the pain of seeing him—her Toby, who was maybe never even hers—gone away to another life.

"Hanna got the job," the man across from her states.

And her heart skips a beat because it _is_ him. It is Toby. It is his voice—his voice that spoke words of promise and love, _and lies_. It is Toby._ The boy who beat her in scrabble. Her safe place to land. The owner of her heart._ It is him. It is really him. He may sound hollow—sound as if he _wishes _he were dead, but he is not. He is alive. He is here.

"I know," she raises her head to look at him, swallowing every ounce of emotion she has.

His eyes widen—those eyes that linger on the lightest shade of blue—those eyes that promised love and truth.

"Spencer," the word runs off his tongue in a vague tone. A vague, emotionless tone.

"When I was in Radley, Mona told me you were alive…but I couldn't believe it until now…" she states, her voice wavering—insecurities breaking through her weak walls.

Something washes over him. Something that almost seems like sadness. He looks down.

"It's—complicated," the words break on the way out of his mouth.

She sniffles, "you're alive. You faked your death!" she exclaims in a rasp, feeling her eyes well up. She recoils into herself, her body becoming tense.

"It wasn't me!" he fights back. "I didn't—I didn't know. I knew after," he throws back words weakly.

She stares at him, wishing that she could just be strong. That she could hold herself together, but it isn't possible. It isn't even close to being possible. So much has happened. The last time she saw him, he was in her kitchen, sporting a black hoodie and rummaging through her kitchen drawers. So much hurt has consumed her. She has succumbed to darkness.

"We can't talk about this here," he quickly states. "Does Mona know you're here?" he asks in a whisper.

"No…she has no idea."

"Spencer, this isn't safe..." he beckons, his voice quiet. "I know somewhere we can talk," he offers. "You just have to trust me," he pleas.

"Trust you?" the words leap off her throat in a pang of despair and loss. "Do you have any idea-," she begins in a fuss of emotions. She sniffles, "why should I trust you? You're –A. You're working with Mona—,"

"To protect you," his voice finds her in the pit of darkness. "I know that it looks bad, but you just…you have to believe me."

"I want to," she admits in a tender, broken voice. "But…" she looks away, feeling like she will burst into tears in any second.

"What we had was real," he states firmly. "I need you to believe me…and to follow me," he tells her, his voice stern.

He gets up, and begins to walk towards the door.

And hesitantly she follows.

He leads her to some dingy motel. He tells her that he has been living in motels for the past couple weeks, moving in and out of them like a nomad. And it seems fitting for him, because he is always running. Even though he hates it, he is always going the other direction—always furthering himself from the harsh reality that surrounds him.

He passes her a cup of coffee, and their hands accidentally brush. Sparks run up her in an instant. She missed these sparks. Sure, there was something with Wren…but it wasn't the same. He will never be Toby. No one will ever be Toby.

"Why did you do this Spencer?" he asks after a long, drawn out, silence.

He sits on the bed, and she leans against a wall, her coffee cup heating her cold hands. She stares at the black liquid, the sweet scents of its contents running up her nostrils, "Mona told me she would let me see you…if I followed her rules…" she confesses. Why is she the one answering questions? Shouldn't it be the other way around? "I had to kidnap a seven year old," she breathes, the guilt washing off of her as the words sweep past her tongue. "I broke up Aria and Ezra, so…I've earned her trust," she says, disgust in her voice.

Toby doesn't say anything, so she continues, "you're supposed to be my reward for delivering the girls."

"How did you find me?"

"Mona has a lot of equipment," Spencer says listlessly. "It wasn't that hard. I just had to get into her lair alone."

She sets the coffee down on the small table next to her, and walks in front of Toby, staring down at him, almost scared to open her mouth. "Why did you do it?" her small voice flows into the air.

"I told you, I wanted to protect you," he states, his jaw clenching at he speaks. "I knew something was up—you're not that great of a liar."

"But apparently you are," the words move past her mouth, coolly. "You said what we had was real, but if that's true—how could you," she inhales sharply, staring away, "how could you just _watch _me _fall apart_," the heavy words tumble out of her frowning lips. "If I saw you…hurting, like I know you saw me," she clenches her eyes shut, shaking her head, feeling her throat closing on her.

"I know," his heavy, raspy voice echoes off the walls, and into her ears. "I know…" he states again, rising up to his feet.

He tries to take her hands, but she flees from his touch, clasping her hand to her chest. She opens up her eyes, and stares up at him through the blur of salt and despair. He has tears of his own, dark circles, too. He looks almost as worn out as her. _Almost._

"Spencer, I just…I _worry_ about you. I…the thought of losing you…I just…can't," he shakes his head, his eyes pleading her. To do what…she isn't sure.

"I understand…you…joining the –A team…I mean, I did the same thing, but…" she sighs. Her brown eyes wavering against his, "you..._broke_ me."

"I know," he looks down. Swallowing, the words scramble out of his mouth, "I broke me, too."

She wished so much pain on Toby throughout the last few weeks. She wished death on him at one point. Of course, she didn't actually want that (clearly.) But she had wished it. She had craved revenge. She desired to see him in a state of torment. To see him break, and fall, and shrivel. But, right now, seeing him—hearing his voice break, and eyes swell—it hurts her. It pains her to see this emotion of despair from him. He has caused her so much terrible suffering, but yet, seeing him suffer only breaks her more.

"Do you love me, Toby?" she asks, sniffling, swallowing another sob, feeling her cheeks cover with dew.

She asks because she has to hear the words.

She has to hear those three, overly used, words.

Even though he implied it…even if he said that they were real…she has to hear the words directly.

His eyes sync with hers—his eyes that shine brighter through his tears; his sad, tragic, beautiful eyes. "So much," he declares. "I know it may not seem like it. And maybe you don't even believe me. But, I…I do. I love you more than you know. More than I can probably ever prove…" he professes, salt and pain running down his face.

A bittersweet, tiny, smile rises up on her face, "I just…I needed to hear that…" she confesses.

"I _really_ love you, Spencer," he says it again, a strain in his voice. "I just…needed to say it again," he breathes. "I love you."

And then she breaks down. Carelessly—freely, and openly. And when his apprehensive arms coil around her, she doesn't pull away or push him off. No, she accepts it. She _embraces_ it. She _needs_ it because she is already so fallen apart. She cannot lose anymore of herself.

Apologies soothe her to a lull, and suddenly they are sitting on the bed. She is leaning into him, her hands wrapped around him in a possessive matter, her head in his chest, in his sweet smelling shirt. Toby loves her. Her Toby—the only man she has ever loved, the only person who has every really understood her, the one she has given herself fully to—loves her. She feels bliss at the thought, after everything. After it all, he loves her. _He loves her._

But does she love him?

After all he had done to her. After all the strain he has put on her heart. After all the destruction and ruin, is it possible for her to still love him?

She knows the answer though. She is asking herself the wrong questions.

_How _is it possible that she still loves him?

She finally pulls away from him, offering a sort of, broken smile. He just looks at her, unmoving—completely still.

"Toby…I love you," she breathes after a second. "But…" the word is painful to say, "I just…" her voice breaks off into a ghastly silence.

Their eyes flicker back and forth, both feeling so utterly damaged by the world.

"I don't know…we can't just go back to how things were."

"Are you saying we shouldn't be together?" he prompts.

"I don't know," she admits… recoiling from his touch all together.

She already feels cold without him to warm her. But being close to him, it's like being in the midst of the fire. It is demerging herself into toxins. It feels good with him, it does. But it also leaves her with a sense of guilt. Of anger. Of sadness. There is no changing the past. She cannot erase his mistakes, and he cannot either. They can only go forward, but how can something so utterly broken and damaged move forward? Move at all? When everything is left in scraps and pieces, and lost among the dust of chaos? Where do you even start? Is it even possible?

"I love you," she states the words again, peering up at his blue irises. "I do, but…" she shakes her head. When she was little, when her mother and father would fight about everything and anything, she always wondered what made them stick together. She found out later that it wasn't love, or even trust, but both being strong enough to endure the suffering appointed by the other. She isn't comparing her relationship with Toby to the relationship her parents have with each other, at all, reallu. But the fact of the matter is that love is not the most important thing. There is no one important thing. A relationship is a complex structure, it has multiple bonds, and necessities. And her relationship with Toby is only running on love. Which makes it incapable of surviving…

"Maybe we shouldn't," she tries to say without sobbing, feeling herself crumble beneath the words.

"But…"

"Some things are just unfixable, Toby. I can forgive you for joining the –A team. I get that. It's just the pain you put me through… I can't. I can't look at you without feeling all of that again, and while being with you makes me happy, it doesn't cancel everything else out," her voice is quiet and frail.

His eyes skirt down to her hands, and then her copper orbs, "I want you to be happy, and safe, and to feel _okay._"

"I want the same things for you," she offers, taking his hands in hers, almost in an urgent matter. "But… there is also a part of me that wants to spite you. It's microscopically, but it's there. I'm not a forgiving person, Toby. I have been holding on to grudges my whole life. I try to let things go, but I can never fully do it. I wish I wasn't like this. I wish I could say that in a decade from now that everything will be okay, but I'm not an optimist. I'm not some hopeless romantic. I never have been. I never will be. That's just not who I am."

"I understand," he murmurs in a heavy tone. "I guess this is the end for us, then," he looks up at her, dismal in his eyes.

"I'll always love you. It's never going to be the end for us," she murmurs, her voice strained.

"I'm so sorry, Spencer," a tear falls from his right eye.

"I know."

* * *

a/n: Sorry. It was "Endings", what were you expecting? At least no one died, right? Well, anyways. No, I don't think this should have happened. But if they were ever going to break up, it would have to be before 4x01 (aka before her forgiving him) because if they can get through THAT, then they can literally get through everything. Sorry Haterz. Even though you don't care, I'm gonna tell you what I think should have happened: I think they should have spent 4A building up their relationship. That would be awesome sauce. Also, this was originally a 4A/3x24 Rewrite. I was gonna make them rebuild their relationship, but I will never get to that, so I decided to change it. Which is another reason this sort of sucks? Anyways, leave a review pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. :)


	4. Chapter 4

a/n i haven't updated this in a while...wow HAHAH

but thanks for the lovely reviews! :) you guys are great feel free to leave more :)

004/100

Insides

There's something about storms that Toby has always admired. They are beautiful in the most abstract, possible way. Most scorn storms, and curse their existence, but yet, there are still a few that admire them. They forgive them for ruining their plans, and enjoy the exquisite beauty unfolding in the sky above them. It sort of shows that beauty is _indeed _just an interpretation.

"Where did this storm even come from?" he watches his fiancé's finger's recoil from the curtain. She shakes her head, exasperated, "it was beautiful out this morning."

It was in the mid seventies; the sun out, and a slight breeze lacing through the trees. Toby can't deny that he didn't enjoy that. In fact, that's his _ideal _weather, but he liked storms too.

"It's okay," he supplies, releasing his hold from the curtain. "We can just find something to eat here."

"All we have is cereal and lunch meat. But that's of no use to us because we don't have any milk, nor bread," she sighs, her shoulders slumping.

"I'm sure we have more than that," he argues.

She gives him a pointed look. "Fine, look. If you can make something magically appear, I'll be estatic, but I am going to go find some candles," she places her hands on his chest for a second before departing.

He takes another glass outside and is greeted with a growl of thunder.

The only bad thing about storms is power outages, and if the weatherman is right on the sereneness of this storm, they'll likely be without it.

He goes to find something for them to eat in the kitchen, and realizes that Spencer was right. They really do have nothing to eat. They've both been so busy lately with everything that a shop to the grocery store would throw their whole schedule around. This is the first time he's had dinner with Spencer in _awhile. _In fact, he doesn't really even recall the last time they had sat down together for a meal. With both of them free of work/schooling/whatever else, they were going to go out to dinner tonight. But with this storm…

He searches the pantries and finds some _Kraft's Macoroni and Cheese_ that he didn't even know they _had _because Spencer usually disregards anything that has already been prepared to eat (or another name for it would be anything _artificial_) but he figures this will have to do because there is literally _nothing_ else to eat.

But then he remembers the absence of milk in their company. He sighs, and shoves the box of macaroni and cheese back onto the shelf. His eyes flicker to a jar of peanut butter, and he decides to screw it, and picks it up. He grabs two spoons, along with the box of cereal and bag of bologna, and sets it on the kitchen table.

Spencer is still off on her quest for material, so he goes back into their kitchen to (hopelessly) look for some more food to satisfy their empty stomachs.

He finds a small bag of pretzels (one of those 100 calorie snack pack ones) and a small box of raisins. It's not much, but, it will have to do. He grabs some napkins, and two cups to fill with water.

After he is finished, he sets the table so it looks somewhat presentably, and waits for Spencer's return.

She soon returns with an abundance of candles, lighters, and flashlights. Also, a blanket. Even though it is summer.

"A blanket?" he questions after she sets the supplies on the end of the table.

"What? I get cold easily. You know that."

"It's summertime," he states, incredulously.

"It's sixty degrees outside," she counters.

"True," he agrees.

She grins, her eyes transferring over to the other end of the table. She laughs, "I don't mean to say I told you so, but, I told you so."

He grabs her hand, and forces her to take a seat in front of one of the two plates. He takes the seat next to her.

His hand wands over the peanut butter and bologna, "protein," then the cereal, "fiber, _and _grain," then the raisins, "fruit."

"What about the pretzels?" she asks, amused.

"We can dip it into the peanut butter."

She laughs again.

"I know it's not some fancy European cuisine, or anything, but—"

"It's perfect," she supplies.

He smiles.

A second later, the room is pitch black, only illuminating from the lightning that strikes outside.

They quickly bring out their phones, and Spencer groans, "I knew we should have lit these the second I got up here."

They light the candles, and place them around the room, and on the table, before diving into their dinner.

"As amazing as this dinner is, I think we can't put off the grocery store any longer."

He smiles, sucking on a spoon of peanut butter, "should we make a list?"

"Of what? The things we _don't _need? That would certainly be shorter…"

He grins. "Things could be worse. We could not have _coffee,_ but what am I saying? You would never let that happen."

She smirks, "are you ever going to stop making fun of me for that or?" she dips a pretzel in the peanut butter.

He snickers, popping a raisin in his mouth.

A round of lightning illuminates the room, and she brings her arms around her.

"I hate storms," she sighs.

"I like them," he voices. "They're…oddly peaceful."

"I've just always hated them," she comments. "I remember once in first or second grade, there was this really bad storm due to some hurricane, and the power struck out, and was _terrified. _Because my parents left me home alone, and my nanny wasn't scheduled to come in that day, and Melissa was at her friend's or something. And it was just…awful. I just sat in my room, and watched my door like a hawk."

He takes her hand, and his thumb circles her palm in comfortable movements.

"Ever since then, I've kind of just despised them. And then there was the whole Ali thing, with the storm, and then Emily… and then that time where you—," she doesn't have to finish for him to know what she is referring to. "Me and storms just don't get along well."

He brings her palm up to his lips, and nuzzles his mouth over her palm, his face lit by the candlelight.

She offers a small smile.

He sets her hand back on the table, and links his fingers between hers. "Maybe I can change your mind about storms. Replace the bad memories with good ones."

"How so?"

"My mom used to find ways to entertain me during blackouts."

A wider smile spreads, but it is still acute. "I'm intrigued," she murmurs.

He grins.

…

Toby tells her all the things he used to do with his mom during black outs, and most of them are activities for children (surprise, surprise) but still manage to sound appealing. He tells her that she can choose whichever activity sounds the most entertaining. Ultimately, she decides on building a fort.

They gather material from around the house using their flashlights, and set up base at the end of their bed. They cover the ground with blankets, and the sides with pillows, and use chairs to hold up the sheet ceiling above them. Spencer shamelessly flirts with him, asking him to help her out, _since he's a carpenter/architect, and all._

When they are done, they lie on their backs, and stare at the white cotton ceiling above them.

"I used to make forts with Melissa, but we'd always end up fighting, and it would always end up falling apart," she turns on her side to stare at him. He does the same. "But this is really nice," she glances around. "We make a good team," her voice is light.

"We do," he agrees, moving towards her. His hand snuggles around her side, and he places a tender kiss on her lips, which she instantly responds to. She leans closer to him, and pushes her hand up his shirt, making it gather up on the sides.

They roll over so Spencer is on her back, sort of, anyway, and Toby is hovering over her. She is sort of cleaning up, and his hand is at the small of her back to keep her balance. Her shirt is off before his, which is rare, but his does not come off long after.

She parts for a second, smiling tenderly at him. His eyes make her whole entire stomach inflate with feeling. "We're taking an innocent child activity, and making it…dirty," she decides, amused.

"It's not dirty," he states, his lips moving to her chest. He leaves deep kisses along her collarbone as he speaks. "It's incredible." Kiss. "Amazing." Kiss. "Love," he meets her eyes.

She smiles, "then lustful," she murmurs softly, her lips close to his, almost touching. "And _sinful_."

Their eyelids tickle each other as they blink, "we've been sinning for awhile," he amusedly murmurs.

She smiles before meeting his lips for a kiss.

"Maybe blackouts aren't so bad," she decides.


End file.
